


Twisted Mirror

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Whumptober [4]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: (aka the Exes), Bound, Cameo by Greg and Mac, Daltonstokes - Freeform, Gen, Hurt Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Jack Dalton Whump, M/M, Nick Stokes Whump, Scar reveal, Scars, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, gunpoint, hurt nick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 14:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick and Jack's date night is soured and becomes intimate faster than intended as they discuss their scars. (whumptober prompts: gunpoint, scars, bound)





	Twisted Mirror

“Don’t tell me the show’s over! Is that the best you got?” A brave and stupid bark from the man sitting opposite him sent a shiver down his spine.

“What are you doing, don’t encourage them!” A whispered plea, things looked pretty sticky as they were, without him opening his big mouth and begging for more.

“Keep an eye on them until I return,” A soft murmur from thin lips as he collected his tools, and left the men to contemplate what they were asked for.

With the parallel positioning of the two guards standing back to back, pointing their guns at their captives, Nick Stokes felt like he was staring into a mirror. 

His hands were tied behind his back, the buttons of his shirt split apart, exposing his bare, sweating chest. Tense legs bound backwards to his hands, spread-eagle style, wrapping around the chair’s legs in an uncomfortable position that made him feel more vulnerable than he’d care to admit. A tall man looming in the left side of his peripheral vision--he strained to keep his eyes focused on the man a few feet in front of him, but his left eye kept drifting to stare down the barrel of the gun just inches from his face.

“Oh, really, now you’re just gonna stand there, huh?” 

“Jack!” Nick hissed at the man. “Will you stop?”

A twisted mirror, that is. Almost like a fun house mirror, minus the distortion in the image. The man bound in the chair opposite him looked nearly identical, minus the differences in their hairstyles, the presence of stubble on the man’s chin, the absence on Nick’s. 

While Nick was tense in his position, nerves vibrating his body, goosebumps bubbling on his skin, Jack Dalton seemed to have relaxed into it with a sense of bravado. His eyebrows narrowed, a mischievous grin on his face, just _ daring _for the guard to make a move, though Nick could see the rapid rise and fall in the man’s own exposed chest, made the scars on the man’s skin come alive. 

“Don’t worry, hombre, they ain’t gonna do anything. Like them Mounties outside the Queen’s palace--”

“I think you’re thinking of the Queen’s Guard--”

“--Can’t take the risk of doing anything to make us blab before big boss man returns. And yeah! That’s it, the Queen’s guard. Head’s a bit scrambled, If Lundgren over here didn’t _ whack _ me a few minutes ago I wouldn’t make such a _ mistake _, WHICH IS WHAT THIS IS!” he added in a shout, leaning his head towards the door that Nick couldn’t see behind his body. Nick gulped, the hairs on the back of his head stood up, he tried to control the quiver in his bottom lip as he awaited the return of their captor. 

Jack took note of the internal conflict within the man, the cracks in Nick’s defenses were deepening. 

“Look, I know this ain’t the date I promised ya, but just sit back and relax, Stokes, the calvary will be coming any minute to bust us outta here. Nothing to worry about.” 

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Nick scoffed with a bit of bile rising in his throat. He dared to shoot--no pun intended--another look towards the long, narrow hole keeping him tied to the chair, else he would have struggled to get out of his chair by now.

Not that his limbs weren’t twitching, veins weren’t throbbing, his teeth weren’t gritting against the confines of his captivity. A familiar itch to push against the walls that were closing in, threatening to cave in, collapse on top of him, squash the life out of him. 

“Judging by the two holes in your chest, yeah, I’d guess not,” Jack mused, nodding to the two scars on Nick’s chest. “Looks like a shotgun blast to me.”

“It was.” He paused, shouts and guilt and sensations dredging up from some dark place in his mind that he’s tried so hard to forget about. “Serial killer. 2010...:”

Something floated up through his throat, a spark lit in his eyes. Perhaps it was Jack’s bemused look on his face, perhaps it was the urge to snap back at Jack’s previous attempt at words of comfort--that Nick knew wasn’t meant to be demeaning but sure as hell felt like it--or perhaps Nick was starting to get frustrated enough to leave any worries about getting shot on the floor where the tips of his shoes were just barely skimming over...but Nick’s lips curled upward.

“Emptied my clip into him,” he growled at the tall man without a name in a taunting tone.

It earned him a whack to the face with the very gun that clicked as it tapped his right cheek, turning his head towards the barrel that was now very dangerously close to his eyes. He felt a sting, a small ooze of blood pouring from his split lip.

“Oh, c’mon, you’re gonna bust his lip before mine? I’m almost offended, Lundgren, I thought we had a _ relationship _here,” Jack mused as Nick took short, shallow breaths as his heart leapt mountains. 

“Shut up,” the man dubbed “Lundgren” threatened with a thick accent. He didn’t slap Jack’s face, but instead let the click crack the sudden silence in the room. Jack looked past the gun, stared directly into the man’s face, the time for wisecracks was over, though he did glance at his partner, bestowing a playful wink.

Nick’s eyes drifted down Jack’s body, saw that the tips of his shoes were actually planted on the floor, the rope seemed looser, the beginnings of a plan that Jack had been concocting with his distracting dialogue. 

Nick nodded, affirming that he was at least aware of Jack’s freedom, though he wasn’t quite sure what Jack was going to do with it. He covered up the nod with a final gesture towards Jack’s chest.

“I told you ‘bout mine, now you tell me ‘bout yours.”

Jack chuckled, a bit darker than Nick was used to hearing from the normally light-hearted man.

“We’d be here all night.”

“Doesn’t look like we’re in a rush to get outta here.”

“Well…” Jack sighed. “Take your pick, there’s a lotta options to take out of the hat. Knives, needles, shock batons, gunfire, _ actual _fire...My line of work certainly keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure...and those got burned, too.”

Nick swallowed the question that would have exposed them--_ exactly what line of work is that? _

He knew more than a few things about Jack Dalton since they had first met a few months ago, but one thing he didn’t fully know was the extent of his involvement with the government, which would be the only explanation for the secrecy, as well as the torture sessions. 

“Sorry,” was all Nick could offer instead of his burning questions, though his heart truly did extend to the man. “That’s...that sounds like more than anyone should have to go through.”

Jack’s face scrunched, his eyes looked away, to the blank space of the room. Nick licked his lips. 

“Made me who I am today, I guess.” Jack shrugged. “I’m still standing, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Silence fell over the room again, the two guards undisturbed by the flexing of hearts between the two damaged men. Nick spent the unnumbered amount of time wondering when Jack was going to spring into action, unnerved by the man’s reluctance to do anything but sit and wait.

But still, Nick invested a lot of trust into the reflection ahead of him, felt a sense of calm in the brainwaves that Jack was sending over through the look in his dark eyes, right into Nick’s soul. 

The door creaked open, Jack puffed out his chest, lifted his head up, throwing on the cocky charade once more.

“Ah, the prodigal man returns. Gotta file a complaint with you, boss, your boys were instructed to keep an eye on us, and they pistol whipped the less handsome version of me over there, almost made him spill the beans before you returned, can you believe that?”

“Really?” the man sneered, dragging the small table from the side of the room, its legs screeched on the floor making the identical men wince. “Now that I’ve returned, Mr. Stokes, perhaps you can enlighten us on the so called…’beans?’”

He rolled out a pouch across the rusted steel of the table. Nick’s breathing hitched as the man waved his fingers waved over the tools. Jack rolled his eyes at the classic technique…

“The kinda beans that give you the shits,” Nick retorted.

But Jack beamed with pride, glad to see Nick didn’t buy into it, made sure to vocalize it with a deep, louder than necessary laugh to deter the punishment from the man. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn, Mr. Dalton,” the man snapped coldy, nodding at the guard to silence Jack with the gun, but right as the metal was going to impact the side of his face, in one sweeping motion, the rope was dropped, a fist flew out from behind him, a sore twinge in his armpit, but he pushed through it, enforced the connection between his fist and the guard’s jaw, knocked him out. 

“Kill him!” the man ordered the other guard, but Jack had picked up the chair he was previously tied to, whacked it into the man, which sent him falling onto the guard like a domino.

Nick jostled his body, sending him and the chair to the floor, narrowly missing the bullet that had been shot out of the guard in a last ditch attempt to obey his orders before Jack incapacitated the torture squad. 

“Easy there, hoss, I’mma cut that rope, okay?” 

Nick sucked in the tears that teased his eyes, threw his heart back inside his rib cage. 

“Just another day at the office for you, huh?” he squeaked before letting out a moan of relief, being able to operate his hands. He was fascinated by Jack’s power, but distrubed at the casualty in which Jack tied up the assailants with the rope. 

Jack lifted him to his feet with a short laugh. Clasped a hand on his back, as Nick began to quickly button up his shirt. 

“I’m very good at what I do. Just like you are. You good, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Nick panted, eyeing the guns that Jack began to pick up. He handed one to Nick, before leading them out of the room.

_ Gets a little easier every time _, Nick mused to himself, staring at the weapon, glad to be the one in control of it rather than at its mercy.

“So...what’s that one about?” Jack gestured to the scar on Nick’s wrist, which he normally covers up with a sweatband, or long sleeves. A faded circular scar, but it was not like the gunshot wounds on his chest. At first glance, almost even looked like cigarette burn, but the edges were frayed. Picked at. 

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Nick waved off. _ Can’t even believe it myself, most days _. “It was a long time ago.”

And he wasn’t particularly keen on dredging up _ those _memories.

“You don’t hafta tell me now,” Jack whispered to him. “When you’re ready though...I’m a good listener.”

They exited the tiny room, Jack slammed the door behind him, which made Nick’s ears prick up, shut his eyes. 

“Good riddance!” Jack spat at the door, wiping the rust off his hands. “Gonna have to get a fucking tetanus shot now…”

“Jack!” an eager voice called out from the end of the hall. 

“Well it’s about damn time!” Jack called back. “Hope you don’t mind, got sick of waitin’.”

“You guys okay?” Angus Macgyver asked, Greg Sanders hot on his heels behind him.

“Peachy,” Nick cocked one eye open, flashed a quick grin at Greg, happy to see him, but not quite under the circumstances of having been abducted on a date with another man that wasn’t _ him _. 

“Let’s get you guys out of here,” Greg sighed, helping Nick walk off the cramps in his legs. 

“Greg, listen, man, I wanted’ta tell you,” Nick began to drawl in a low whisper. Jack was walking almost completely normally, arm wrapped around his friend.

“Not here. Not now. We can talk later, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m good, G, just…”

“Getting too old for this shit?” Greg prodded playfully. “Listen...I’m happy for you, alright?” 

Nick nodded, a smile spread his lips apart. He reached a free hand for Jack’s, intertwined their fingers together.

“I’m thinking for date two...we get some good ol’ fashioned barbecue,” Jack suggested. “Y’all are welcome to join us, double date of sorts.”

Nick and Greg looked at each other and started laughing. 

“Just don’t let Nick drive.”

**Author's Note:**

> circular scar on nick's wrist is in reference to an ant bite--maybe one that he didn't stop picking at, that never fully healed.


End file.
